Gee, what shall we talk about today?
Ginny. My name used to be Ginny, not Faith. Well, it was actually Virginia, which is a V word, not a G word, but I went by Ginny. And I had very good reasons for changing it. I’d always wanted to change it. My mother made the mistake of telling me once that she almost named me Mary Virginia Claire (because one grandmother wanted a daughter named Mary Virginia and the other grandmother wanted a daughter named Virginia Claire), and I loved the name Claire. So when I decided to change my name, I tried out Claire but it no longer fit me. Joe actually picked the name Faith, and it fit very well. But back to the Ginny part. You know how you can tell how people dislike you, or feel very contemptuous towards you? The last six months or so of people calling me Ginny at church got me to where I just hated it. You couldn’t just hear the contempt in their voices, it was so strong you could use it to peel paint off the walls. So although I kept the name Virginia as one of my middle names, my first name is Faith and that’s what I go by.
Joel Grey. We’re counting him here as a G word even though his first name starts with a J. How do I love him? Shall I count the ways? His turn as the Wizard in Wicked is beyond compare. I never got to see him in that role, but I have the CD of the original Broadway cast recording, and he is so delicious. I loved him in Alias as well. Frankly, I’ve loved him in everything I’ve ever seen. He is teh bomb.
Garage Sales. Not much to say about them, but there they are. Actually, when Joe and I first moved to Texas about 18 years ago, we furnished our apartment at garage sales. So there’s that. And a neighbour and I organised a neighbourhood garage sale some years ago to benefit a neighbour who was on disability. That was a great experience. We made a lot of money for our neighbour, and all the remaining items that didn’t sell were trucked off to Goodwill, which is also a worthy G word. The one near me, at least, is better if you’re smaller in size, because the clothes in my size there tend to be really hashed and really ugly.
Gasoline. I hate paying $4 a gallon, particularly right now while I’m driving a–shudder–minivan. I’m afraid to see what the cost will be when I fill it up. I’m down to about half a tank right now. Whenever my sister and I are together, and we need to purchase gasoline for the vehicle, we always stress “gasoline,” because if one of us says, “I need to get gas,” the other usually enthusiastically complies.
Glitter. Glitter glitter glitter. Do you know what glitter is? It’s fairy poop. All those crafts that are just glistening with glitter? Fairies pooped all over them. And fairy poop adheres to your skin, which is why you need to be very, very careful when using glitter. And I speak from experience when I tell you that when you’re using glittery eyeliner, do not get any glitter in your eye. Getting it out is a pisser, and it hurts like billy blue blazes.
George. Weasley, that is. And Fred, whom I should have mentioned yesterday. Of course, they know that everyone calls them Gred and Forge, which also works. I adore the Weasley brothers. I’d marry them if I could. (Who else have I already volunteered to marry? Cookie Monster, wasn’t it? And someone else? My views of marriage appear to be quite liberal.)
Gadgets. I like gadgets and doodads. My kitchen was full of them, many of which I actually used. Melon ballers are good for more than just balling melons. Heh-heh.
Ghosts. I love ghosts. I’ve seen one, and have experienced others. And the incomparable Izzybella and I are writing a delicious ghost story that you will definitely want to read as soon as it’s finished.
Galveston. I used to live in LaMarque, Texas, just a few short miles and one causeway away from Galveston. I also worked at the University of Texas Medical Branch in Galveston, and I worked in front of a huge window that overlooked the bay. I got the worst sunburn of my entire life at Galveston. I was 15. We lived in the Fort Worth area and had gone down to visit my grandparents in LaMarque. The family was planning to go to the beach later in the day, but I was 15. So my Dad kindly drove me down to the beach and said that he would pick me up around 2. I feel the need to emphasize this: He dropped me off at 10 a.m. and picked me up at 2. I was 15. Until that point, I’d always tanned very easily. I was wearing a white bikini with a rainbow across the butt. It was a very cute bikini and I was a very cute girl. So I alternated laying out in the sun and swimming and body surfing. Someone sitting by me told me that I was getting red. I was too dumb to realise that if I was already getting red, and I was still out in the sun, I was in trouble. So my dad picked me up, took me back to my grandparents’ house and put on a sundress my grandmother loaned me, and went to the store with her. By the time we were in the checkout line, I had turned a deep maroon colour and couldn’t bear to have anyone touch me. By the time we got to her house, I couldn’t bear to have clothing on. Someone ran me a lukewarm bath and put me into it to try to cool me down, and it sent me into chills. I went to bed, teeth chattering, buck naked. Later on my sister got into bed, as we were sharing. We were due to leave the next day. I wore a pair of panties and one of my dad’s tee shirts, and lay in the back seat all the way home, shivering and crying in pain. It was bad. Really bad. Let’s just say that sunscreen is a good thing.
Games. I love to play games, board games, computer games, mind games, any kind of games. And I can seldom find anyone who’s willing to play with me. Fortunately there is a game that people who refuse to play games with me will actually play with me, because it’s complete nonsense and bosh. It’s called Quelf. (Not Quief, Quelf. Big difference.) I got it for myself for Christmas, and the last time Izzybella and Amethyst came over to my flat, we played it. It is an absolute hoot!!! If you live or ever visit the DFW area, come by my place and I’ll cook you a delicious meal and we’ll play Quelf.
George Michael of Wham! He did some skit, if I recall correctly, for SNL where he was talking about his awesome butt. He did (does? I haven’t seen him in a whiel) have an awesome butt, and I’m a butt woman, like I mentioned before.
Gifts. I love gifts. I love giving gifts, and I love it so much that I find it incredibly difficult to keep them secret. Izzybella usually has to stick her fingers in her ears and go “la la la la la” because she doesn’t want to know what her gift is while I’m trying to tell her. I did pull a good one, though, when she was 10 or 11. She was horse mad, like many girls her age were (I skipped that stage altogether, thank og), and I found a really cute poster of a horse. She was begging me to tell her what it was, and I eagerly complied. “It’s a poster of a mare,” I told her. Only I pronounced “mare” with a good Texas hick accent, and it sounded like, “mayor” and she thought, much to her distress, that I got her a poster of some stupid politician. I strung her out with that one until Christmas morning and she was delighted to find it was actually a horse. Not that horse’s asses and politicans don’t have a lot in common….
Guitars. I’m married to a guitarist. He asked me one day, not too long ago, why I had both a nook and a kindle. I said, somewhat huffily, that there were some books that you can get for the kindle but not for the nook, and also I can get a lot of books for the kindle for free. Then I asked him why he needed 50 guitars, and he looked at me like I was stupid. Alas, he never did get the point I was trying to make. He’s a brilliant guitarist, and I do sort of understand why he needs more than one guitar. Just not 50. And I don’t think he really has 50, but he’s got at least 15.
Gingerbread. One Christmas Joe got ambitious and got a gingerbread house mix packet thingie, and brought it home on Christmas Eve for us and Izzybella to assemble. Well, it was a catastrophe from the very beginning, and just got uglier and uglier and uglier, and wouldn’t stay together, and, well, we never tried that again.
The Giver. One of the first dystopian novels I ever read. Lois Lowry did just an amazing job in dcreating that world, and I read the sequels as well. It ignited my love for dystopian novels that continues to this day (hello, Hunger Games, and wow! That was an excellent book to film adaptation!).
I guess that’s probably enough for one day. Tune in on Monday for some love for the letter H!